The next day she enjoyed having Grandma’s Attic all to herself. She moved the coffeepot from Bonnie’s office to a table near the front of the store so customers could help themselves. She rearranged the shelves to disguise how bare they were, now that Bonnie could not reorder stock as readily as before, and she managed to persuade two of their most negligent customers to make payments on their long-overdue accounts. By the time she flipped the sign in the front window to CLOSED and locked the door behind her, she felt satisfied that she had put in a good day’s work. She wished Bonnie had been there to see it, but that would have defeated the purpose of proving how well she could handle the store on her own.
On Sunday, Michael came home to do his laundry, as he did almost every week. When he first proposed that arrangement after moving from the student dorms to a dilapidated rental house he shared with three other students, Diane had balked, certain that what he really meant was that he would dump his dirty clothes in the basement and expect to pick them up later that afternoon, washed and pressed. To her pleasant surprise, a year in a dorm with its own laundry facilities had taught Michael he could handle the work himself, and he actually did a fine job of it, though he still refused to iron. Most of the time Michael sat at the kitchen table studying—actually studying!—between changing loads, but occasionally he had time to sit and talk with her over a cup of coffee, especially if she had baked cookies earlier that day.
On that Sunday, however, he was sweating over a computer programming project and an English paper, both due before spring break, plus he had midterms coming up, so she knew better than to interrupt him once he sat down to work. When he took a break to stretch and put his whites in the dryer, she asked him what his plans were for spring break. She was curious, because by this time last year he had already hit her up twice for a trip to Cancún, requests she had flatly turned down. Still, she was surprised he had not tried again.
“I’m staying here,” Michael told her. “I have a major design project due two weeks after spring break, and I’ve barely even started it since I have all this other stuff to do.”
“That seems like poor planning on your professor’s part. Does he expect everyone to work through spring break?”
Michael shrugged. “That’s better than having it due during midterms along with everything else. College isn’t like high school, Mom. You actually have to work.”
“Yes, I seem to remember something about that from my own college years, back in the olden days,” said Diane, but she was secretly thrilled, so much so that she didn’t add a rebuke about how he actually should have worked in high school, too.
Michael turned down her invitation to stay for supper, citing too much work and plans to get pizza with his housemates. It was not until the next morning that Diane discovered he had left two pairs of jeans on the folding table in the laundry room. She knew he would wear the same pair he had worn Sunday every day for a week rather than make an extra trip home for his clean clothes, so she decided to drop them off at his house before her afternoon shift at Grandma’s Attic.
She called ahead to warn him, since she and Tim had promised never to visit unannounced. As she drove through Fraternity Row to a street of student rentals as dilapidated as Michael’s, she hoped the message she had left with a housemate counted as fair warning.
Michael, who had returned from class in the meantime, answered her knock and welcomed her in out of the cold. She handed him the jeans and looked around with misgivings, wondering how he would react if she raced to the store and returned with a carload of cleaning supplies. “Do you even have a vacuum?” she asked, eyeing the crumbs on the floor.
“No, we leave that to the mice. I’m kidding,” he added hastily.
“Sure,” she said, not sure at all, and she nodded to the interesting sculpture of empty beer cans on the floor beside a stereo system with enormous speakers. “One of your friends is an art major, I presume?”
Michael grinned. “Not exactly.”
Diane snorted and decided to leave before she saw anything else. As she kissed him good-bye at the door, a young man shouted from another room, “Yes! I got it!”
“Great,” Michael called back, and shook his head.
“What?” asked Diane.
“There’s this girl he likes in his Econ class. She’s not listed in the student directory, so he’s been looking for her cell phone number.”
“You can do that? Find cell phone numbers on the internet?”
“Sure.” Raising his voice for the benefit of the unseen roommate, he added, “And it wouldn’t take me two weeks to do it, either.”
Suddenly inspired, Diane asked, “Could you get me Mary Beth Callahan’s cell phone number?”
“Why?”
“It might come in handy someday.”
“You mean like if Todd’s out with her and Brent, and you need to contact him? Why don’t you just ask her for it?”
“Michael …” She sighed. “Sometimes it’s best not to ask too many questions. Can you get me the number or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can get it.” He hesitated. “Can I use that line sometime, about not asking too many questions?”
“Not with me and your father you can’t.”
He grumbled but agreed, and told her he would have the number by his next laundry day. Diane thanked him and went home, the first fine threads of a plan gathering in her thoughts.
Three customers were waiting in line at the cutting table when Diane arrived at Grandma’s Attic, so she quickly stashed her things, put on her apron, and took her place beside Bonnie. “Are you feeling better?” Diane asked as she unrolled a fabric bolt and measured out two yards.
“Hmm?” said Bonnie. “Oh. I suppose. Thanks.”
“Was it the flu?”
Bonnie handed the first customer her pile of cut fabric and offered to help the next person in line. “Didn’t Agnes tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Bonnie fell silent as she sliced through a purple-and-green paisley cotton with her rotary cutter. “Well, I guess it was just one of those weekend things. You know.”
That sounded rather vague to Diane, but she nodded. “You know,” she said casually, “we had quite a few customers on Saturday. We—I should have said I, because I was here alone.”
“I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”
“No, of course not.” Diane handed the cut fabric to the customer. “Everything went quite smoothly. It was no trouble at all to open and close by myself, so if you ever need me to do it again, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” Bonnie finished assisting the last customer and headed to the cash register to ring up the three women’s purchases. Diane rolled up the fabric bolts and returned them to their shelves. By the time she finished, the store was empty except for herself and Bonnie, who had taken a seat on a stool beside the front counter, visibly drained. No doubt she still felt the effects of her illness. “I apologize for imposing on you last weekend,” Bonnie said.
“Not at all.” Diane leaned back against the cutting table and smiled. She had thought that Bonnie’s first day back would be the best time to approach her about going full-time, with her emergency substitution fresh in Bonnie’s mind, but the conversation wasn’t going as well as she had hoped. “You know how much I enjoy working here. It sure beats volunteering for another committee at the high school.”
Bonnie’s gaze had shifted past Diane to the shelves of sewing machines on the far wall. “Schools need involved parents.”
“Well, of course, but once Todd graduates, I won’t be a class parent anymore. Did I tell you Todd has pretty much rejected Waterford College? If he chooses Penn State, the tuition won’t be that bad, but if he gets into Princeton—” Diane laughed. “Let’s just say I’d rather work overtime than take out a second mortgage.”
Bonnie said, distantly, “I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay overtime.”
“I know that,” said Diane, bemused. “I was kidding.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” Bonnie rose and walked toward the back of the store.
“Not about working more,” Diane called after her as Bonnie entered her office and sat down at the computer. “I wasn’t kidding about that part.”
If Bonnie heard, she gave no sign.
That evening, Diane drove to Elm Creek Manor to submit her proposed course schedule, already more than a week overdue and probably unnecessary since Sarah and Summer were well into arranging the master schedule. Her conversation with Bonnie ran through her thoughts, making her more displeased with each repetition. She should have been more forthright. When had delicacy and tact ever served her well? Bonnie had probably left the discussion thinking Diane resented working the extra hours, which meant Diane was now worse off than before.
She found Sarah in the second-floor library, which Sarah often referred to casually as her office, as if she were the only person who worked there. She was seated behind the large oak desk that had once belonged to Sylvia’s father, looking every bit the overworked manager despite her jeans and faded purple turtleneck. Although she did not complain, she could not hide her exasperation when Diane handed her the overdue paperwork. “This would have been useful two weeks ago,” she said as she leafed through the pages.
Diane knew she was only ten days late, not fourteen, but she said, “I’m sorry it’s late. It’s pretty much the same as last year, but if it creates any problems with your master schedule, don’t change anything for my sake.”
“Thanks,” said Sarah dryly. “We won’t.” She set the papers aside and rubbed her eyes. “Diane, I’m sure you’re very busy, but I’d really appreciate it if you could pay more attention to our deadlines.”
“Sure,” said Diane, giving her a tight smile. “You know, if it was that urgent, you could have called.”
“It was urgent, which is why we gave it a mandatory deadline.”
“Right. Got it.” Irritated, Diane left the library before Sarah’s reprimand could turn into an argument. “We,” she muttered under her breath as she descended the grand oak staircase to the front foyer. Just what she needed, another employer who didn’t respect her. Employer! What an unpleasant thought. A few years ago, she never would have thought of Sarah as her employer.
Fuming, she turned down the west wing hallway toward the back door. As she passed the kitchen, she heard Sylvia call out, “Diane, is that you?”
“Yes,” Diane called back, reluctantly. She was not in the mood for another lecture.
“Would you mind joining me?”
Diane sighed and passed through the kitchen into the west sitting room. Sylvia’s private sewing room was upstairs, but she often brought her work downstairs when she hoped for company. From her favorite armchair near the window, she had a fine view of the rear parking lot and, unless the cook and his assistants were raising a clatter in the kitchen, she could hear anyone passing in the hall.
Diane paused in the doorway as Sylvia looked up from the quilt hoop resting on her lap. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I have to put supper on.”
“I won’t keep you but a moment.” Sylvia smiled and indicated the opposite chair with a nod. “I hoped you might be able to clear up a mystery. You’re very perceptive.”
Flattered, Diane promptly seated herself. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” Sylvia removed her thimble and set her unfinished quilt aside. “Tell me, is it my imagination or have people been acting rather strangely around here lately?”
“It’s not your imagination,” said Diane, thinking of Bonnie’s unexplained absences from Grandma’s Attic and Sarah’s increasingly bossy tendencies.
“Ah! I knew it.” Sylvia removed her glasses and let them dangle from the fine silver chain around her neck. “Now, if we can only figure out why. I admit I might not have noticed myself except for Matthew. He’s the one who alerted me to everyone’s odd behavior, although, come to think of it, he’s behaved rather oddly himself. Would you believe I overheard him and Sarah arguing about foot massages and apple trees, of all things? I couldn’t make any sense of it.”
“Did you ask them what they were talking about?”
“Heavens, no. I would have been forced to confess my eaves-dropping.” Sylvia frowned. “But that’s not all. Ever since that strange meeting where everyone showed up early and congregated in the kitchen, Sarah has been making the most ridiculous excuses why I can’t accompany her on her trips downtown. And have you noticed no one talks about their current quilting projects anymore? We haven’t had a show-and-tell after our business meetings in weeks. A few days ago, Matt asked Agnes to show him the quilt block in her sewing basket and you would have thought he had asked to see her unmentionables! This, from a group of quilters who usually can’t wait to brag.” She shook her head, then fixed a piercing gaze on Diane. “Have you noticed it, too?”
“Actually, no,” said Diane weakly. “That’s not the odd behavior I was talking about.”
“Well, now that I’ve pointed it out, I’m sure you know what I mean. Do you have any idea what’s wrong? I wouldn’t be so concerned except the first day of camp is only three weeks away. If we have a serious problem, we must root it out before then.”
Diane hesitated. It seemed unfair to allow Sylvia to worry when there was a simple explanation. Maybe she could reveal something—not the entire secret, but just enough to assuage Sylvia’s fears.
While Diane struggled to decide what and how much she could say, Sylvia leaned forward slightly, her expression suddenly sharp and expectant. All at once, Diane understood. Sylvia had not invited her to chat because she was unusually perceptive, but because she was—undeservedly—considered a bit of a gossip.
Indignant, Diane almost accused Sylvia of deceiving her, but remembered just in time that this would only confirm Sylvia’s suspicions. “I’m afraid I can’t explain,” she said. That was the truth; she couldn’t explain or the other Elm Creek Quilters would have her head. “But maybe you can help me with another mystery.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Do you have any idea why someone might consider me an incompetent employee?”
“Incompetent? That seems rather harsh. I do recall Sarah grumbling about some missing paperwork recently, but she never called you incompetent.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.” Silently Diane berated herself for ignoring the deadline. From now on she would submit everything early if it killed her. “I mean Bonnie. I’ve been working at Grandma’s Attic for years and I don’t think she appreciates a thing I do.”
Sylvia smiled. “I suspect all employees feel that way from time to time. It must be especially difficult since Bonnie is also your friend.”
“It’s more than that,” said Diane, and confided her entire list of hurts and grievances: her full-time schedule that invariably went ignored; her willingness to work extra hours on a moment’s notice that no one appreciated; her good ideas for store displays and promotions for which she received little praise and no thanks; her exclusion from “management meetings” about the shop’s future. “Maybe management meetings made sense when Bonnie had five employees,” Diane said, “but not when Bonnie and Summer are management and I’m the only managee!”
“That does seem particularly unfair,” said Sylvia. “I can’t believe Bonnie is deliberately excluding you or ignoring your contributions. Have you told her how you feel?”
“Of course.” Diane paused. “Well, actually, no. Not directly.”
Sylvia laughed. “I’m not unsympathetic, dear, but how do you expect her to understand your concerns if you don’t tell her?”
“I’ve dropped a lot of hints.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Sylvia reached over and patted her hand. “You’ve been working yourself into a fine state of hurt and resentment when what you needed to do was sit down with Bonnie and tell her what’s troubling you, exactly as you’ve told me. On second thought, not exactly. You might consider shouting a little l
ess.”
“How am I supposed to get Bonnie to sit down and listen? Schedule an appointment?”
“That’s a fine idea. Bonnie is a very busy woman, and it’s clear she’s had a great deal on her mind lately. Summer mentioned that the shop’s rent is going up, and I can’t open the newspaper without seeing an ad for another sale at Fabric Warehouse. I daresay Bonnie might have other worries, too, which have nothing to do with Grandma’s Attic.” Sylvia mused in silence for a moment, then smiled ruefully. “I suppose I’ve solved my own mystery. I must have forgotten that my friends have concerns apart from me, from Elm Creek Quilts. What I have perceived as odd behavior is probably nothing more than the actions of people dealing with problems of their own.”
“That’s possible,” agreed Diane, reluctantly. She wanted Sylvia to find another explanation for her friends’ recent secretiveness, but not if it excused Bonnie’s behavior at work.
“Possible? I think highly probable.” Sylvia put on her glasses, frowning. “It remains a mystery, however, why none of our friends have shared those concerns with the rest of us. Once it seemed we knew the most intimate details of one another’s lives.”
“That’s because we used to have weekly quilting bees,” Diane reminded her. “Then those turned into quilting bees tacked on to the end of our business meetings. Now the entire block of time is a business meeting. Each season we have more business to discuss and less time to talk about ourselves. Only Agnes bothers to bring handwork anymore.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Sylvia smiled, regretful. “I suppose that’s the price of success.”
“It won’t always be this way,” said Diane. “This time of year is especially busy. Things will settle down once camp is under way.”
Sylvia shrugged as she took up her quilt hoop and slipped her thimble on the first finger of her right hand. “You may be right. But nothing endures forever, Diane, perhaps not even the closest of friendships.”
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 22
